


Eremo

by arsenic_bite



Category: Original Work
Genre: Disorderly Eating, Distopian, Emetophobia, Gen, Original Fiction, Sci-Fi, Self-Harm, first original work hell yeah, fuck I dunno, second chapter’s pretty rough, somewhat detailed descriptions of a corpse decomposing, tags will be updated as chapters are added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-13 01:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14739515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arsenic_bite/pseuds/arsenic_bite
Summary: Twenty-three year-old Roswell Pierce has been trapped at a desert outpost for three years. Today is the day he leaves.





	1. Outpost F837

The desert landscape could almost be compared to that of the moon, save the small amount of vegetation and relentless sun that scorched the rust-red rocks. Up against the side of a mesa stood a small house with dirty windows, a power generator, and water pump off to the side. But what really stood out was a large, four-by-three meter metal door frame. But, where a door might have been was a pale blue and lavender screen of light that pulsated and let off streams of what looked like smoke. It was thrumming away like most big machines do, and gave off a smell not unlike blood.

This somewhat serene setting was disturbed by the falling rocks and dust being kicked up by a humanoid figure running down the steep slope of the mesa. Eventually the figure fell, arms flailing as he tumbled head over heels the rest of the way down. Arriving at the bottom of the mesa and wasting no time, he scrambled to his feet and started sprinting towards the large glowing gate. About halfway there, the droning sound was cut off by a loud  _ boom _ , causing the air around the gate to become charged like a storm right before lightning strikes. The changing hue of the light inside the gate glowed pure white before finally spitting out a person, the first to show up in a very,  _ very _ long time. The visitor that came through the gate stood up and brushed the dirt off her fatigues before receiving a welcoming punch from our dear dirt-eater.

Well, ‘receiving’ wouldn’t really be the right word. It was more along the lines of the visitor sidestepping the attempted blow before grabbing dirt-eater by the arm and effectively flipping him on to his back. They stood there staring at each other for a solid minute before, “What the hell was that about?” The visitor asked. She had close-cropped black hair and an ugly scar under her left eye. Dirt-eater stared up at her with an empty expression before attempting to speak. Instead of words, a nasty sounding coughing noise mixed with what might have been a response was offered up. Visitor lady tilted her head to the side as our man on the ground licked his lips before attempting to speak again.

“Dunno,” was the eloquent, long-awaited response. “I wanted to make sure you were real.” Visitor lady shook her head before offering a hand up. “So what’s your name dirt-eater?”

“Dirt-eater?”

“Well, you  _ do _ have dirt all in your face.” This was true. Dirt-eater started to rub some of it off before answering, “‘s Roswell. I’m the gatekeeper here at F837. Who’re you?”

“Pardon?”

“Who are you?”

“I’m Nin.”

“Just Nin?” Roswell said carefully. He gave this ‘Nin’ person a once-over. Fatigues, a tight black shirt under what might be a bulletproof vest, and most concerningly, a glock holstered on her thigh.  _ She kinda looks like a cop with that getup on, _ he thought.

“Anyways, why are you here? And why was the gate off for so long?”

“I’m here pick you up. And the central hub was taken a couple of years back.”

“Taken?”

“Yeah it got hit pretty hard during a bombing run. We were able to evacuate most of the staff. Got a couple of gatekeepers to leave their posts early. Looks like you weren’t in that group.” A frown tugged at the edges of Roswell’s mouth.

“Hold on, what was the thing that you said?”

“What, the bombing?” Nin raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah! That’s not normal. Why were were so nonchalantly about it?”

“That’s not how that word works.”

“That’s not the point of this conversation!”  Roswell said hurriedly, “Why was there a bombing run?”

“Because we’re in the middle of a war?”

“WHAT? SINCE WHEN?” Nin gave Roswell an odd look.

“Since forever, have you been living under a rock? I can literally see a radio tower a kilometer east from here.”

“That tower can only be used for official purposes, and I don’t have enough power to get it online,” Roswell started to tap his foot, a worried look on his face, “If I had, I wouldn’t be here right now.” Nin could clearly see that he wasn’t handling the news well. Roswell, who had been nervously tapping his foot, now was anxiously pacing around and hugging himself as he unconsciously played with the hem of his shirt. You could almost see the gears turning in his head as he decided what to do next. “How long has it been,” he said sharply, his voice shaking slightly, “How long have I been out here?”

“Oh, uh, I would have assumed that you were keeping track of time,” Nin responded. She slung a small pack off her back and took out what an electronic dayrunner. She scrolled through it before finally stopping, having found what she was looking for. “From what it said on the travel logs back at the hub, I think it might have been around three years.”


	2. Three Years Earlier

Your name is Rowswell Pierce and your brother is dead. You almost missed it, him falling over the edge of a ravine, your heart skipping a beat. The moment you realized what was happening time seemed to slow to a crawl. You’re still not sure if the sharp intake of breath you heard was his or yours. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is what you do next. You look over the edge. Seeing his twisted and broken body is too much to bear. Tears swell in your eyes as you turn to vomit. You’re shuddering and sweating by the time you’re done emptying your stomach, sobs racking your body. You curl up on your side, continuing to cry. Everything feels unreal, numb. You aren’t in your body anymore, everything is so far away. The ache growing in your head from crying is distant, a dull thud. You can hardly feel the gravel you’re lying on. After an unknown amount of time, you get up and wipe your face on your shirt. Still shaky and numb, you begin your descent.

 

* * *

  
You haven’t buried him yet. You can’t. Instead, you dragged his corpse from the gorge and in to your house.   
  


* * *

  
He looks awful. You feel awful. It’s been a few days since he died and red foam has been leaking out of his mouth, his body bloating. You’ve tried to keep the flies away but you know it’s only a matter of time before maggots start to hatch. You still drag him around with you, sometimes talking to him. Looking into his ashen face you can hear him talking back.   
  


* * *

  
Soon it becomes too much. You become terrified of the corpse you’ve been hauling around. It doesn’t look like your brother. It isn’t your brother. The rotting flesh, empty eye sockets, you can only cry out of fear and shame of allowing something like this to happen to Mickey. You hurriedly dig a grave and cover up the body.   
  


* * *

  
It's been a few weeks but you still have nightmares about that garish face, the rotting smell, the guilt. You wake up crying and praying your brother doesn’t hate you for what you did to his body. The loneliness is crippling, tearing at your mind until you tear at yourself. Small cuts start appearing on your sides and you chew off the tip of your little finger; you’ve always wanted to know what human flesh tastes like. You stop eating after that.   
  


* * *

  
Of course you couldn’t not eat forever, so you settled for an unhealthy cycle of fasting and binging. You are so alone. Alone alone alone.


End file.
